Chapter 2 - THE WATCH ON THE TABLE
“You disagree?”
Preston Hale asked the question like a man inviting a child to explain multiplication.
Evelyn took one quiet sip of wine.
“Yes.”
Preston smiled.
“With which part?”
“The part where you said your people are clean.”
The smile disappeared.
Across the table, Adrian Mercer remained still.
Evelyn continued.
“The forty-two million didn’t disappear in one transfer. It moved in four separate blocks over eleven days. Different companies. Different banks. Different descriptions.”
Preston leaned back.
“That proves nothing.”
“I wasn’t finished.”
One of Preston’s men shifted near the wall.
Evelyn looked directly at him.
“The amounts changed. The descriptions changed. Even the routing changed. But whoever moved the money made one mistake.”
“What mistake?”
“They rounded the internal freight allocation to six decimal places.”
Preston stared at her.
Evelyn folded her hands.
“Mercer Atlantic uses four.”
Adrian’s eyes sharpened.
“Hale Freight uses six,” Evelyn said.
Preston’s jaw tightened.
“So your brilliant conclusion is that I stole from my own venture?”
“No.”
That answer unsettled him more.
Evelyn leaned forward.
“My conclusion is that someone wanted us to think you did.”
Silence settled over the table.
Adrian’s fingers stopped beside his whiskey glass.
Preston looked toward him.
“Is this your game?”
Adrian said nothing.
Evelyn continued.
“The first transfer went through a company called Redbrook Freight Management. It existed for fourteen months, did almost no business, then vanished.”
Preston shrugged.
“Shell companies exist.”
“Yes.”
“You use them.”
“Yes.”
“Adrian uses them.”
“He does.”
Adrian glanced toward her.
Evelyn smiled faintly.
“He appreciates honesty.”
“Occasionally,” Adrian said.
Preston ignored him.
“So what?”
“The transfer required an old Mercer authentication sequence.”
That changed the room.
Adrian sat straighter.
Preston’s expression went blank for half a second.
Evelyn saw it.
So did Adrian.
“What sequence?” Adrian asked.
“Seven digits.”
She recited them.
Adrian’s face hardened.
One of his guards looked away.
Preston said nothing.
Evelyn turned toward him.
“You recognize them.”
“No.”
“You do.”
“You’re an accountant, Ms. Monroe. Not a mind reader.”
“No. But people look at things they’re afraid of.”
Preston’s mouth curved.
“And what am I looking at?”
“My bracelet.”
His eyes dropped automatically.
There it was.
Evelyn wore a narrow silver bracelet around her left wrist. It was old, slightly scratched, completely out of place beside a three-thousand-dollar evening dress.
Preston had looked at it four times since dinner began.
Evelyn touched it.
“My father gave this to me when I was thirteen.”
“I don’t care.”
“You did two seconds ago.”
Preston’s face changed.
Adrian noticed.
Evelyn noticed that he noticed.
She had learned long ago that Adrian Mercer rarely interrupted at the moment other men expected him to.
He preferred waiting until they had nowhere left to run.
Preston picked up his whiskey.
“This is becoming tedious.”
“Then answer one question.”
“No.”
“Where did you see this bracelet before?”
His glass stopped halfway to his mouth.
Evelyn’s heartbeat changed.
That had been a guess.
A good one.
But still a guess.
Adrian said quietly, “Answer her.”
Preston lowered the glass.
“You want to control your accountant, Mercer.”
Evelyn’s voice cooled.
“I don’t belong to him.”
Preston looked at her.
“No. I suppose women like you prefer pretending they arrived in rooms like this on merit.”
The air tightened.
Adrian’s expression did not move.
Evelyn had heard variations of that sentence since college.
Too loud.
Too confident.
Too broad.
Too female.
Too ordinary for the rooms she entered.
She usually ignored them.
Tonight, she needed Preston angry.
So she smiled.
“Women like me?”
“Smart enough to be useful,” he said, “and attractive enough to confuse usefulness with importance.”
Adrian’s thumb moved once against his glass.
Evelyn remembered the elevator.
If he crosses a line?
I handle it.
Preston kept going.
“Men like Adrian always have one woman at the table who believes she’s different from the others.”
Evelyn stood.
“Careful.”
Preston laughed.
“That sounded almost threatening.”
“It was advice.”
He rose too.
His chair scraped against the floor.
Every guard in the room straightened.
Preston stepped closer.
“Do you know what your problem is?”
“Several things, according to my mother.”
“You think numbers make you untouchable.”
“No.”
He reached toward her wrist.
Adrian’s two guards moved.
Adrian lifted one finger.
They stopped.
Preston caught Evelyn’s bracelet between his thumb and forefinger.
“You wear a cheap little piece of silver with an expensive dress and think that makes you interesting.”
Evelyn looked down at his hand.
“Let go.”
“Or what?”
“Preston.”
Adrian said his name softly.
It was the first warning.
Preston should have heard it.
He didn’t.
Instead, he looked at Evelyn and said, “Maybe your father taught you to dress above your station too.”
Evelyn slapped him.
Hard.
The crack tore through the room.
Six hands moved toward six weapons.
Red wine jumped against white linen.
Preston turned slowly back toward her.
“You just made the worst mistake of your life.”
Evelyn returned to her chair.
Across the table, Adrian leaned back.
And smiled.
“What the hell is funny?” Preston demanded.
Adrian lifted his whiskey.
“You’ll understand in a minute.”
Evelyn placed her napkin beside her plate.
“Now that we have everyone’s attention, perhaps we can stop pretending you came here to negotiate.”
Preston stared at her.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about forty-two million dollars.”
His cheek reddened.
“I already told you—”
“You lied.”
Adrian’s smile disappeared.
Evelyn looked at Preston’s jacket.
“The authentication sequence came from an old Mercer security system. Adrian stopped using it seven years ago.”
Preston remained silent.
“The seven numbers aren’t random,” she said. “They’re a serial number.”
Adrian’s eyes moved to hers.
Evelyn had not told him this part.
“A serial number for what?”
“I didn’t know until tonight.”
She looked at Preston.
“But he does.”
Preston’s shoulders went rigid.
Adrian said, “What is it?”
Evelyn answered.
“Your father’s watch.”
Nothing moved.
Patrick Mercer had worn the same steel wristwatch for twenty-six years.
Adrian remembered it at Christmas.
At funerals.
At business meetings.
On the night Patrick Mercer left home for the restaurant where he would be shot dead.
The watch had never been recovered.
Adrian’s voice changed.
“How do you know that number?”
Evelyn kept her eyes on Preston.
“Because Mr. Hale has spent the entire evening staring at my bracelet.”
Preston gave a humorless laugh.
“That makes no sense.”
“It will.”
She touched the small silver ship charm hanging from the bracelet.
“My father worked on the waterfront until I was sixteen. He engraved this charm himself.”
Preston went pale.
Adrian saw it.
“Preston.”
Preston did not answer.
“Where is the watch?”
“I don’t have it.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Preston looked around the room.
Then he sighed.
The anger slowly left his face.
Something else replaced it.
Resignation.
He reached inside his jacket.
Three weapons came out immediately.
Preston’s men responded.
“Everybody relax,” Adrian said.
Nobody relaxed.
Preston slowly removed his hand.
He was holding no gun.
Only an old steel wristwatch.
Scratched face.
Black leather band.
A small dent near the crown.
Adrian stopped breathing.
Preston set it on the white tablecloth between them.
The sound was almost nothing.
Metal against linen.
Yet Evelyn felt the entire night change.
Adrian stared at the watch his father had been wearing the last time he saw him alive.
“Where did you get that?”
Preston rubbed his reddened cheek.
Then he looked directly at Adrian.
“From the man who moved the first eight million.”
Adrian’s voice became very quiet.
“Who?”
Preston pushed the watch across the table.
May you like
“Gabriel Rourke.”
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